


Super Danger

by the_desk_fairy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: 404: Ben Solo Not Found, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood, Bondage, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominance/submission, EXCEPT we are critical of superheroes á la "The Boys", Everybody's got super hero names!, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Bond Sexual Situations (Star Wars), Gingerrose - Freeform, Graphic descriptions of gore, Hux is the Spy, Journalist!Rose Tico, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Praise Kink, Rey hides her powers, Rey is mind linked with a psycho monster, Reylo - Freeform, Rough Sex, Stalker!Ben Solo, Superheroes suck, That's Not How The Force Works, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, biting kink, dubcon, so much thirst, stalker!hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_desk_fairy/pseuds/the_desk_fairy
Summary: He knows two things about the girl called Rey:1. Despite her unassuming and even bedraggled appearance, she’s a supe.2. She can read his mind.He’s not worried, though. Super Heroes can do whatever they want without consequences.You’re not seriously gonna try to complain about the guy who saves the world, are you, baby?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 50
Kudos: 55





	1. Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Welcome to my first Reylo! Heyo!
> 
> This popped in my head last night after I finished watching Amazon’s “The Boys,” let me know what you think!

The first thing worth noting is that Rey didn’t have a single reason to be there.

Not one. 

She was just a bystander on the corner of the street, having hesitated a second too long before the light changed to DON’T WALK.

Rey wouldn’t have been there if she had just grabbed peanut butter from the grocery store yesterday. Or if she had gone the correct direction toward the bodega: north around the block instead of south. But all that was forgotten when a blast of hypersonic energy blew her off her feet.

Her ass hit the pavement so hard her breath collapsed in her lungs. 

“Oh my… fuck!” she choked.

“Look!” A woman nearby cried. “It’s Dark Knight!”

Rey’s first thought was that Seattle’s great superhero could go fuck himself if his grand entry amounted to her ending up ass deep in a sidewalk puddle, but then,

Oh my god, then...

A swoop of a black cape, a hulking dark shadow. Smooth, cat-like muscles framed in a tight black suit. His raven hair splashed against a severe jawline. Sharp features were focused, drawn into an intent glare that made Rey’s breath seize. Her pulse stuttered.

_Well fuck me, he actually is that hot in real life._

Rey watched Dark Knight throw one of his “force beams” at the crowd gathered on the sidewalk, shoving people out of his way with an invisible pulse of energy.

“We love you, Dark Knight!” A breathy cry blurted from one of the people thrust out of the supe’s pathway. Cheers and clapping followed.

The hero did not acknowledge his fans, but continued racing down the street as if the fate of the world hinged on his speed. 

There was a sensual undercurrent to his stride that made Rey’s insides twist with curiosity, heat pooled into the base of her belly. That glint of seething masculine power in his eyes made her suddenly feel as if he had pushed her onto her back with her knees spread on purpose. Her breath caught, her heart flailed like a snared bird.

As he approached, Rey felt the tilt of energy, that _thing_ she’s so often done. She didn’t mean to deploy it just then, but like so many innocent mistakes, seeing something that she wants sparks that little bit of desire. For people like Rey, the line between intention and action can have deadly consequences.

Which is why she’s kept her powers a secret.

While all the other supes contract for major corporations like Resistance Tech or The First Order with their flying powers, invisibility or super strength, she keeps her ability under wraps.

Because so far, her thing is terrible.

“We aren’t just naturally heroes,” Princess Leia said once on a television show Rey was watching. “We have to hone our abilities. Resistance Tech helps superheroes like me and my brother figure out how to use what we’ve got to help people.”

Rey scoffed when she heard this. _Nobody needs my powers._ She tries to ignore her thing; to live like everybody else in case it happens again —in case she _hurts somebody again._

She didn’t mean to activate her power that moment as Dark Knight was running down the street. 

But she knew it the second his face tipped toward her, the instant his mahogany gaze trailed in the corner of his eye. She had done it.

_Fuck._

His glare locked on her for half a heartbeat.

A bassy voice crackled over her thoughts.

_23rd and Pine Black Sedan… whaaaa who is that, nice tits..._

Rey’s gut bobbed with horror. She’d just made a stupid, stupid mistake. 

The slightest flicker of acknowledgement flashed in Dark Knight’s eye, then his head snapped forward without the slightest hesitation in his stride. He kept sprinting and disappeared down the sidewalk.

A slow, acidic exhale hissed out through Rey’s teeth.

The after effects of what she’d just done varied depending on the person. They might not think about her again, even if she was tapped into them for an hour afterward. Or they might think about her a lot.

 _Idiot!_ Rey knew better than to do the thing to strange men, especially after the Plutt debacle. _Whoa there,_ she stopped herself, _don’t think about Plutt._ It had been hard enough to get the restraining order that kept him from stalking her, no reason to give him an ounce of her mental energy again.

It was a shame, really; she had gone so long without slipping up like this.

 _Rey, you fucking moron!_ she scolded herself.

The sidewalk had begun to fill again. Rey hauled her wet ass out of the puddle and brushed bits of grit and trash off her jeans. Her mouth twisted. Maybe if she left her pants out on the balcony of her apartment she wouldn’t have to go to the laundromat this week. Six more days until she got her paycheck, she could hold out.

Her forehead hummed.

 _Suspect, five nine short blonde hair… blonde blonde… no blonde… I should get that prosciutto ruben from_ _Zylberschtein's again..._

Rey smacked the heel of her palm into the side of her head.

 _Get it together, Rey!_ She sucked air slowly through barely parted lips and focused on a brilliant fall-hued tree up ahead, its fiery red leaves catching the light. The deep voice dimmed and faded in her brain.

This was bad.

Like, more than normal bad. The man’s voice was stronger, louder in her consciousness and more consuming than any other connection she had ever experienced.

 _Well, what did you expect, genius!_ Rey growled at herself. 

_You mind-linked with a fucking supe!_

  
  


Rose nearly leaped out of her skin. 

The crash was like metal hitting concrete at lightspeed: a crushing, wailing, screeching crunch that made her teeth grind. She scrambled over a cracked pylon, clutching her camera.

“Help me!” A man with a tweed jacket was pinned under a heap of bricks. Dust bathed his shaggy hair and filmed over the twisted frames of his glasses. Blood poured from a gash in his head. “Please, somebody!”

Her chest tore with pain, Rose lifted her camera and snapped a photo. She knelt beside the man.

“Paramedics are on their way, sir. What’s your name?”

“Gerald Murphy,” the man moaned. “Storm… I need Storm to help me!”

Indignation lanced through Rose’s stomach. She bit her tongue until she tasted metal.

_Don’t you know who did this to you?_

Sirens pealed in the distance.

“Sit tight, sir, everything will be ok.”

She stood and darted around the brick wall toward the locus of that god-awful sound a few moments ago.

“Holy shit!” She stopped, standing stock still. 

The parking lot was the scene of utter decimation. Rubble and mangled steel was piled atop cars, the apartment building beside it was blown open like a doll’s house. Furniture hung from crumbling floors and load-bearing structures groaned. The sounds of terrified people echoed on every level. Rose pointed her camera at all of it, snapping and snapping. And crying.

A choking, gagging sound made her drop the viewfinder from her eye.

“Oh my god.”

It was one of _them._ One of those goddamn leeches.

But he was dead.

The supe had flattened the roof of a car and he lay on its crushed hood, tangled in the jutting splinters of his own bones. Shards of him jabbed through gristly chunks of flesh and gashed fibers of his black tactical suit. His face was frozen in shock. Clear, oceanic green eyes were fringed with thick copper lashes --still twitching. His lips parted, they were soft pink: almost feminine if they hadn’t been framed with a strong, carved jawline.

 _Unbelievable!_ Her mouth went dry. _It’s Fix, oh my god, Fix is dead!_

Rose lifted her camera. The shutter clicked and clicked with bitter glee.

Her heart pounded, this was her lucky break! Just one photo of a dead supe, especially one as famous as Fix, could make a journalist's career.

The tortured inhale nearly frightened the living ghost out of Rose’s body.

She stumbled back. 

The supe coughed, dark purple blood dribbling from his mouth and puddling on the dented hood of the car. His body juddered, an arm bent horrifically and snapped back into place. 

Disgust gathered on Rose’s face, her guts curled with pure revulsion. She lifted her camera and kept snapping pictures.

The gushing wounds seamed together, the pink fading almost instantly. A hand drifted up and pulled an enormous shard of glass from his throat.

“You’re going to be required to turn those photos over to me, you know.” A sharp British accent prickled Rose’s nerves. 

When she looked up, he was shifting his shoulders, working his impaled chest up and over a jutting rod of steel, his legs still fractured and splayed at ghastly angles. His normally back-combed red hair hit the afternoon sunlight like flashing bronze. 

“Last time I checked, this country had freedom of the press,” Rose sneered. She considered running, but that was stupid. He’d probably already anticipated her every move by now. “So… Fix, huh? I thought your superpower was solving problems at the speed of light. How come nobody knows you can reanimate like a fucking zombie?”

The supe’s dry chuckle surprised her. 

“The First Order found that the whole…” He grunted as he yanked his knee back into socket. “...repair process didn’t test well with the 55-70 crowd.” His shin twisted into alignment with a nauseating crack.

“Yeah, I’ll bet that’s your target audience, you creepy weirdo,” Rose scoffed. 

Fix snapped his face up at her, his features cold but unflinching. His hair was mussed rakishly, his ruined tac suit flailed open around the marble contour of his abs, beautiful distractions which proved frustrating to Rose.

“So did you get the bad guy, or did you just destroy all these people’s lives for no reason?” She gestured at the gaping apartment building, still crumbling at the edges. “Did you know there is a man pinned underneath a brick wall over there? His name is Gerald Murphy.”

Fix did not immediately reply, but studied her, his ember-red brows drawing together.

“Are you aware that I calculate the most utilitarian outcomes for each course of action?” he said, reproach creeping into his voice. “And that this outcome is quite literally the best case scenario for the particular situation I was confronted with?”

“Oh sure, I’ve seen your TV promos and interviews.” Rose leaned toward him, her face brimming with disdain. “But I think that’s bullshit and you know it.”

A scowl spread across Fix’s expression. His last joint popped into place and he swiveled his foot, rotating his ankle.

In a flash so fast, she couldn’t see it, he left the hood of the car and stood before her.

Rose’s eyes blazed, she set her jaw and stared up into his angular face. She was sure her heart was pounding hard enough for him to feel it through the warm inches between them. Up close, he was a study of sharp, decisive architecture in black armor and pale flesh. He looked down at her with sternness, but only the faint bloom of pink staining his cheeks told her he was angry.

“Miss...” Fix said slowly.

“Tico. Rose Tico.”

“Miss Tico, you know nothing about making decisions that will permanently impact an entire city’s population.”

He held up the little memory chip from her camera between two gloved fingers. Rose clutched her prized equipment against her chest.

_Oh my god, he took that when he ran up to me._

She had to admit it was kind of amazing. And incredibly violating.

Fix snapped her memory chip between his fingers and all of her photos crumbled into nothing.

Rage boiled in her chest and spilled out into spitting fury.

“I know that the way that you supes supposedly ‘solve crime’ costs millions of lives and destroys many more!” she spat.

“Who.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are referring to yourself when you say that many lives were destroyed, now, who do you mean specifically, when you speak about the lives cost by the actions of superiorly-abled persons? And don’t tell me it’s Gerald Murphy.”

Rose felt hot shame wash over her. He wasn’t wrong, but she felt like admitting it would allow him to diminish her extremely valid points. Still, she answered.

“My sister,” she said, deflating slightly.

“Ah.” He nodded with a knowing look that infuriated her. “My condolences.”

_Mother fucker, now he’s going to remind me that the First Order cut my family a check after they killed Paige. That sneaky weasel!_

Rose’s mind was spinning. 

_So he thinks he’s got me figured out huh? Well his fucking littlesuperpowers can’t anticipate everything._

Rose stood on her toes, launching her face toward Fix. Her lips met his soft plush ones before he could react. Generous breasts squished against his hard planes. She hummed, inhaling the sweet texture of his mouth, tracing its edge with the tip of her tongue.

When she broke away, the man with superhuman abilities to predict behavior was utterly stunned.

“You are garbage,” she snapped at his face. “All of you.”

Rose spun on her heel and stalked away, retracing her path through the wreckage.

A breath of air against her skin betrayed his presence near her, but when she glanced back, he was gone. Rose didn’t care what he did. 

Fucking supes are just playing one big game of grab-ass anyway, as her dad always said.

She doesn’t care if they grab her ass anymore. She’s out to stop them.

  
  


Armitage Hux didn’t stop running until he got back to the First Order building downtown. As he rode the elevator up, he pulled the little business card out of his pocket.

> _Rose Tico_
> 
> _Associate Reporter_
> 
> _Seattle Post Intelligencer_
> 
> _(253) 542-4432_
> 
> _rtico@seattlepi.com_

Absently, he pressed the card to his nose. It smelled a little like a hair product, probably cheap, but it struck him as sweet, feminine and nearly as alluring as her mouth on his. His eyes floated closed, he drank in the card’s faint smell with lust seeping through his veins, shivering all the way down to his cock.

When he stepped off the elevator, he made his way down a row of flashing computer screens manned by busy tech operators. He stopped at a young man with thick-rimmed glasses.

“Mitaka, I need you to find me an address.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! Tell me what you think, squad! Are you here for this?


	2. Entwinements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely and intrepid [kmgonz134](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmgonz134/pseuds/kmgonz134) for beta help with BOTH chapters 1 and 2!
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mild abduction, NSFW, Oral sex, power dynamics

The voice blared all throughout Rey’s shift.

_ Get back here, miscreant assholes! Fuckin’ throw your SUV onto its offbrand ass. BAM MOTHERFUCKER!  _

It was like listening to the audio from a sweaty, testosterone-laced boy’s locker room. She rolled her eyes.  _ Dudes are all the same, morons. _

“Do you need help carrying these out to your car, ma’am?” she asked an elderly woman in a green embroidered sweater as she loaded her grocery bags into her cart.

_ SUCK ON THAT, KIA SPORTAGE.  _

Sweater was staring at her.

“Are you alright young lady?” 

“Yeah.” Rey blinked quickly, perspiration beading on her forehead. “I’m fine, sorry!”

The droning, bassy monologue was splitting Rey’s skull. It panged like a nauseating migraine. She shook her head, her brows creasing.

_ Where the hell is Fix? He was supposed to be here. It would be just like him to bounce in the middle of a mission.  _

Rey squinched her eyes shut and grit her teeth.

_ Why won’t it just stop!  _ Her fists hit the plastic guard on the checkout counter.  _ Make him stop! _

A squeal, like the sharp feedback of a microphone, started at the back of Rey’s head and increased, piercing her brain until her knees buckled. 

_ Who said that? _

Dark Knight’s voice was as loud in her mind as if he was standing inches from her.

Rey heard the people physically around her, but the echo in her head was louder.

_ Is someone trying to plant data in my head? No, Resistance Tech can’t be that good. _

Rey rolled onto her side, clawing at the linoleum. 

_ I’ve got to get out of here. _

_ Who is this?  _ The voice of Dark Knight yelled in her brain.

_ Ow…  _ Rey crawled toward the sliding glass entrance on her hands and knees; she dragged herself out the door and onto the cold, damp asphalt of the parking lot.  _ Oh god, I need help. Help me. _

_ Who needs help?  _ The migraine-force of his increasing intensity stabbed her temple. 

Rey closed her eyes and pressed her feverish cheek against the cool pavement. Her breath drew in and out slowly, her voice wringing painfully with each exhale.

_ I can’t do this alone,  _ she thought.  _ I can’t do this alone. I can’t do this alone. _

It became a meditation. She ignored the voice crackling in her consciousness; she ignored the people staring at her as they entered and exited the grocery store; she ignored her manager coming outside and standing over her. 

As she chanted in her head,  _ I can’t do this alone, _ Rey didn’t notice when the sound of Dark Knight’s voice seemed to fade in and out with varying severity, like he was testing something. She hardly reacted when a pair of enormous black boots stopped in front of her.

_ Interesting. The girl from the street earlier. _

_ I can’t do this alone. _

_ Is it you? _

_ I can’t do this alone. _

“I thought you looked familiar.” This time, his voice was real.

Rey looked up.

Standing over her was Dark Knight, an enormous titan of a man sculpted from glowing opal. His broad angles were severe: the slope of his chin, his shoulders, his stance all spoke blatantly of raw power. Dark hair feathered around his face, lurking with shadow; big, slanting lips parted at the sight of her. His velvet eyes raked over Rey’s splayed form, drinking her in.

_ An angel. All alone. _

His thoughts prickled in Rey’s head, she wanted to move, to object.  Something about the tone of his thoughts made her wildly uncomfortable.

_ I can’t do this alone.  _ Clinging to her mantra dimmed the pain in her skull a little, she was surprised that having him closer didn't make the ringing increase. In fact, her head was clearing somewhat, like she was adjusting to his brain chemistry.

“You’re not alone anymore, angel.” Dark Knight squatted down beside her. An enormous gloved hand reached out, pushing back a loose wave of auburn hair. 

Rey felt a tremor in their link, like he held back, masking thoughts he didn’t want her to hear. She sensed them bump against a firewall in his head like rubber balls hitting the back of a fence.

_ I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing. _ His voice resonated in the achey chamber of her mind.  _ I’m here. _

_ I can’t do this alone. _

_ I can’t do this alone. _

Two tree-trunk limbs scooped her up, her head lolled from her shoulders, her hair fanning toward the ground. He stood and walked several feet to the open doors of a black Cadillac SUV. Gently, tenderly, he laid her on a plush leather seat, pungent with the smell of refinement, exclusivity,  _ money. _ The door slid shut on an automatic motor and with excruciating slowness, the light slipped away from Rey.

_ I can’t do this alone. _

__

“But it’s a great story!” Rose pleaded. “I mean, we’re talking about Fix, the stick-up-his-ass super hero who’s all about being noble and righteous with those bullshit slogans…” she pitched her voice in a mocking, nasal tone, “...Every problem has an answer’ and ‘Heroes look for the truth.”

Rose walked out onto the balcony of her apartment. 

“ _ Come on _ , Holdo, the loser is hiding a disgusting freak show, who wouldn’t want to read about that?”

The chatter continued in the earpiece of her phone and Rose’s face fell. Her dusky brows furrowed with disappointment.

“Yeah, well I’m tired of writing for such a sell out.” She dropped her phone from her face and smashed the red circle, hurling her phone back into her apartment in no specific direction.

Her slow, winding exhale puffed a cloud of condensation in the brisk air. Sunlight was fading across the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Downtown Seattle. Her tiny studio looked at the flat back of an industrial building: truly the worst view in the neighborhood. However, at this time of evening it afforded a magical pink light that poured against the stern concrete edifice. Rose closed her eyes and let a small, cold tendril of wind brush across her face and play with her hair.

A stronger gust came from the opposite direction, toying with the colorful prayer flags on a neighbor’s balcony.

_ Wait, what? _

Every hair stood on her body.

Ice seeped into her veins as she turned around, her eyes straining to see inside her dimly lit apartment.

She stepped inside.

“I think you’ll find every editor in Seattle is disinclined to paint heroes in a poor light.”

Rose screamed.

The fire-haired shadow appeared seemingly from nowhere. 

He crossed her cramped studio with an air of ownership, like he claimed the space and she was the intruder. His shoulders were squared like he possessed the ultimate plumb line of goodness, like he was above reproach. She noticed he was in a new tac suit: silken black, so dark it absorbed light, with flexible carbon plates built around his narrow, yet defined form. 

How benevolently he carried himself, parading across her tiny dwelling. He cast a charitable eye on her heaps of fuzzy sweaters strewn across the floor, her stacks of trashy romance novels, her stray bottles of sparkly nail polish and lip gloss.

“My, you are a charming one.” He picked up an old K-pop CD and inspected its cracked jewel case with a snake-like smile curved on his lips.

“Put that down.” Words returned to Rose. “Wha… what the hell are you doing in my home?”

Fix set down her CD.

“I wanted to proposition you with a bit of a trade.” His eyes settled on her, those stormy greens glittering with the violent fascination of an apex predator.

“There is nothing I want from you,” Rose hissed, her insides dipping with dread.

“Ah, but I think your antics on the phone a moment ago might indicate otherwise.”

“My an… who do you think you are?” Her voice bordered on dangerous acrimony.

A rush of mighty, tumultuous wind whisked her off her feet and pushed her into the embrace of her soft, cushiony chair. He whirled about her in a red blur. The wind stopped and Rose was breathless, tucked cozily in her favorite seat under her chunky knit blanket with a glass of wine perched in her hand.

_ Seriously, he uncorked my wine while I fell into my chair? _

Fix sat casually on her grey linen loveseat, his arm draped down its length and his feet resting imposingly on her coffee table, which was suddenly tidied and organized.

“Honestly, Miss Tico, I know you’re in need of another major feature article this month or you won’t pay your bills.” His copper brows lifted.

“You looked at my bills?”

“What if I offer you a lucky break?” 

He sipped at his own glass of wine.

_ Asshole. _ Rose scowled.

“So you want to give me leads, put me at the edge of the breaking news?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I suppose that might suit you.” His eyes trailed upward. “But I was thinking of affording you an exclusive interview series. With me.”

“An interview with you?” she snorted, her mouth tilting with an incredulous smile.

“Yes, I can have the First Order arrange it with the PI, they’ll create a whole hubbub about it with lighting and a camera crew. Then you can steal the show in front of your peers.”

“And you’ll have a big press moment ...with a boring local paper?” 

“So pitch it somewhere bigger.” He shrugged. “The Times perhaps, it’s been a while since I’ve done a feature with them.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Rose laughed bitterly, settling back in her chair and clicking her tongue at him. She took a gulp of wine.

He had nailed her in his setting of her favorite chair and blanket, even down to the generous, five finger pour of wine. But he was way off on this one.

“If you think an interview with your self-important, imperious ass has any kind of appeal to me, then your super powers are broken.”

He bristled, his mouth drawing downward slightly.

“There is literally nothing that I want less than to wrap my name up with you and your company’s gross dismissal and manipulation of innocent people.”

Fix let out a sigh and tipped a heavy pour of alcohol down his throat. Sloping, capable shoulders shifted like Atlas adjusting the weight of the earth.

“Well, ‘breaking news leads’ it is, then,” he scoffed into his wine glass, swirling it reproachfully. “I can get you first on a story about a bust we’re doing tomorrow. Violent white supremacist group. 34th and South Main, seven am in the old flour mill.”

Rose was speechless.  _ Really? Negotiating with him is that easy? _

“What is it you want so badly that you’re willing to just give a lead like that to me?”

His green eyes leaped upward to hers with lethal curiosity and she felt her pulse skitter with fright. His hungry look started to unravel her defenses, she felt her pussy trickle with thirsty betrayal.

Fix leaned forward until he was perched on the edge of the loveseat; his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His posture had a veil of reasonable politeness designed to dim the foreboding magnitude of his form looming over her. 

Rose wasn’t fooled. 

She could sense his powerful, lithe body seething with raw wanting. His pulse bulged in the vein constricted by the banded collar halfway up the muscular column of his neck. The tang of his lust was so palpable, she could taste it, dark and smokey, on her tongue.

“I wondered if you might consider doing again what you did to me earlier,” he said, watching her keenly.

Her stomach fluttered. Flaming gasoline poured into her belly.  _ What? _

“You want me to… kiss you?”

“I want you to fuck me, on a recurring basis.”

Her mouth dropped open. The room spun around her.

“I’ll supply you with leads and insider information, you give me what I want.”

_ This is insane. _ Rose’s heart pounded to be free of her rib cage, she couldn’t believe what she just heard. Prickly heat curled around her clit.

“I don’t understand. You’re a superhero.” She frowned. “You could just take what you want from me.”

“Now where is the fun in that?” His mouth drew up wryly. “Miss Tico, you possess a certain  _ vehemence  _ that I am particularly interested in. One that can not be replicated by force.”

“How charitable.” Her lip curved in disgust. Her stomach lumped and roiled with discomfort, but getting an edge on the best stories in the city would put her on the fast track to senior reporter. No more power getting switched off, no more late fees on her rent.

“ What happens if your leads are bad? Or if I don't get a good story? ”

“You can hold up your end of the deal after you’re published.” He tipped his head back, regarding her searchingly. “With the exception of the lead I just gave you. I want my payment now.”

“Why?” she squeaked, shrinking back. “Why me?”

Green eyes flashed with a look she couldn’t decode. His lips barely parted.

“Because you, Miss Tico, are exactly what I want.”

Rose puzzled over this.

_ He could be lying, his whole honesty schtick could be a ruse calculated to get into my pants just this once.  _

Looking at his stunning physique, the chiseled edge of his jaw and the way his storm-green eyes studied her with leashed obsession, she considered that in fact the terms were rather good. 

If he was lying, well, she’s fucked less attractive men for nothing more than blue balls and a UTI in return. Something about his powerful mein said she’ll probably end up with more than that. 

And if he was telling the truth, this could make her career.

_ Except that he’s a fucking supe. _

The anticipation buzzing between her legs all but died. Her gaze wandered to a photograph on the wall: it was of her and Paige at the Space Needle. She and her sister had sat at a table by the enormous window overlooking the cityscape. Seattle had glittered below them like crusted jewels scattered in little rows to the edge of the Elliot Bay.

_ “Don’t stress about your interview, Rosie,” _ Paige had said.  _ “No matter who you’re writing for, you always find a way to make it count for something bigger than just a story.” _

“One more stipulation,” Rose said.

Fix made a small pleased sound, his pupils seeming to dilate with her words, tantamount to agreement.

She set her wine glass down and gripped the edges of her chair. 

“I get to say whatever I want about the First Order,” she said. “Whatever we have going on behind closed doors doesn’t exempt you or your company from honest scrutiny.”

He didn’t flinch.

“I won’t paint you in a favorable light, I won’t scrub any misdeeds for you. I won’t hide the truth.”

To Rose, Fix’s face was unreadable long after her statements faded into the air. The tip of his tongue traced the inner edge of his lip as he scanned her. 

She wished he wouldn’t do that. It felt like he was peeling her flesh open and sifting her insides.

Finally, he answered. 

“That seems entirely fair.”

Rose swallowed. She had almost hoped he’d disagree, that she could walk away from this offer without feeling like she’d given up the chance of a lifetime. Anxiety swam around inside of her.

She blinked at him, doe-like eyes wide with alarm.

“Wha...what do we do now?”

Fix stood with persuading slowness, like she might startle easily.

“Half a moment,” he said.

And he was gone.

The wind picked up again in Rose’s studio. Papers rustled in the corner of the room, the front door opened and closed once. She thought it was best to stay completely still, no sense running into a person moving at the speed of light. 

Before her eyes, her apartment transformed.

Everything was neatly put away, the surfaces dusted, swept and left sparkling clean. Before she could object, Rose watched two tumblers and a bottle of expensive whiskey appear at her small, circular dining table. The lights dimmed, soft R&B popped on her speaker system, an unfamiliar fragrance issued languidly from her essential oil diffuser. It smelled herbaceous, spicy, undeniably  _ masculine _ .

Rose felt a shiver of delight rush down to the base of her spine.

When Fix materialized again, he had filled the whiskey tumblers. He extended one toward her, ice clinking enticingly. She was floored again that he had anticipated her preference for whiskey on the rocks —and plenty of it. His drink, perhaps equally predictably, was neat.

With hesitation, Rose accepted the glass and took a fortifying sip. She gasped. This was no Jim Beam. Heat, as searing as a kiss, warmed the inside of her mouth and slid with seductive smoothness down her throat, trailing to the base of her like glowing coals.

She’d never had whiskey this good.

His breath hissed over the rim of his glass as he watched her; his eyes sparking like the gathering of an electrical storm.

“Miss Tico,” he rumbled. “I’m going to take your clothes off now.”

The quiet menace of his authority panged in her clit as if he’d touched it. She understood that someone like him could instantly rip her apart or throw her off a building, but he didn’t raise his voice or speak harshly. He didn’t have to.

“M’kay,” she said.

She stepped toward him, setting her glass on the dining table.

Fix raked a molten look up and down her body as if it were an offering. He eased his head back and sipped his liquor like she was a new car or a dancer in a club: something he’s bought and paid for.

“Come closer.” His gaze flicked back up to her eyes.

Rose moved timidly into the boundary of his personal space. 

His breathing was slow, winding like a spool. It turned her on, watching him react to her. She could see his attraction straining against the confinement of his tac suit.

_ I wondered how annoying that must be for supes…  _ She smirked.

He reached behind her, the grips of his gloves brushed against her face like harsh claws. Rose’s eyes floated closed. She felt a gentle tug of her high pony and her hair released in a cascade down her shoulders.

“Shining.” The word was barely above a breath, like Fix didn’t mean for her to hear it. 

The rough texture built onto his fingertips threaded through her hair like little combs. He tangled his fingers languidly through her raven waves. She almost didn’t feel his other hand slide around the curve of her waist, pushing her  _ #BossBitch  _ workout tank up, over her arms and around her shoulders.

“Perfect,” he murmured, sampling the side of her round breast with a discreet swipe of his palm, like he was forcing himself to slow down and consume her bit by bit. “Now, drop you pants for me, little miss.”

Heat flashed into Rose’s cheeks.

_ How dare he be so diminutive, the cocksucker!  _

Rose was ready to whip out a feminist barb, to shut him down, but the look on Fix’s face stole the breath from her lungs.

_ Fuck, he’s like, extremely into me. _

She stood in an old sports bra and black lace panties with a hole in the back and she fucking  _ reigned over him _ : a girl who had been teased in gym class and spent her teens crying in the mirror. Every curve and generosity on Rose’s body was a token of power, bringing a so-called ‘superiorly-abled’ man to his knees.

Fix knelt before her. He unlatched something at his wrist and slipped his hands out of his gloves. Tenderly, he slid pale, worshipful hands around the slope of her waist.

The sound that simmered deep and feral in his chest triggered a gush of hot slick rushing, stinging, pooling into her panties. He brought his face to the lacey band and teased the edge downward, inch by inch with his fingertips, kissing reverently down the tender curve of her belly until he reached a thatch of glossy black hair. 

Green eyes darted upward to flash her a look: dark, gloating, provoking. He was a  _ freak. _ A non-human creature leering over a succulent kill. The thought of him feasting on her made her wild.

By the time the clump of black lace landed around her ankles, Fix was nose deep in her damp pussy.

Rose whimpered.

“Patience, Miss Tico.” His voice vibrated against her swollen, glossy lips. He continued making sinful, throaty noises, hands digging into her bare ass as he laved and slurped at her dripping quim.

Rose jerked and writhed. His tongue was so damn precise, swirling her clit and dipping down into her valleys with pressure varying just enough to keep her on edge. He painted a thick stripe from stem to stern and she shuddered, knees quaking. When his tongue unfurled, long and hot inside her pussy, she thought she might fall over.

Fix got up from his knees and stood slowly, looping his arms under Rose’s legs. He lifted her like a twig, easily settling her thighs deep onto his shoulders. She was  _ literally sitting on his face. _ He propped her up with hands cupping her ass and glanced at her face.

_ Oh my god, he looks drunk.  _ Her baby heart did a flip looking down at that mean supe, his blazing hair charmingly disheveled, lips swollen and trailing with her slick. His clear, seaglass eyes were far from sated. Rose’s cunt squeezed with the thought of being taken by this man who was lifting her like a doll.

He nuzzled her juicy mound with greedy fondness, lifting her ass just so he could hear her pussy squelch humiliatingly against the woven poly-carbon of his tac suit. A devilish smile curled on his lips.

“Ready for bed?” His copper brows peaked mischievously.

“I… uh…” Rose choked, something about him was overwhelming her.  _ This is just a transaction. I don’t feel anything for him.  _

“I jest, Miss Tico,” Fix chuckled, threateningly sweet. “I’m taking you now, whether you’re ready or not.”

_ Oh god… _ Rose’s stomach plunged with delicious terror. She felt the room spin around her as Fix whirled them onto her bed. Desperate hands grasped him tightly, her one solid, fixed point. 

It was all she could do. 

  
  


Rey awoke in the tufted embrace of a cashmere blanket spread across a pillowy duvet. The bed was so vast, her starfished limbs didn’t even come close to the edges.

Water was trickling in the background: a soothing sound that poured over her frayed nerves, smoothing their raw edges. She blinked, her lashes feathering up and down.

The room smelled like dark oak with jasmine sweetness; the space was lavish with gentle blue greys in a variety of textures. A sleek, concrete bay window with a long, wall-to-wall pane. A grand pillar jutted from floor to ceiling with a floating fireplace, secluding the luxuriant california king bed from the rest of the penthouse. 

Rey’s mind spun. The blanket she was nested in probably cost more than she earned in a month.

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool, grey-wash birch flooring. 

No one was around.

Rey wandered around the fireplace where a plush, carpeted step led her down to an expansive living area with a vaulted ceiling framed in daring, Scandanavian angles. The furniture was minimalist and geometric. Black cubes of silky leather made up a seating area gathered on the other side of the fireplace. 

_ This entire space is out of my league _ , Rey thought. It was too good for her to touch. She couldn’t imagine spreading out her magazines or munching cheetos on furniture like that.

She turned around.

Frowning down at her was a cubist painting that filled the entire wall. It was covered in slashing, violent shapes and streaks in blacks, drizzle greys and creams.  _ Like an even pissier Jackson Pollack, _ Rey snickered to herself. To Rey it looked like an enormous, petulant scowl, just like the expression Dark Knight wore in all of his promo images.

The window spanning the opposite wall let in a somber, milky light. Underneath it was a garden of evil looking plants: black grasses, maroon purses of hellebore, giant monstera leaves with their splayed, jagged ribs. 

“Hello?” Rey called into the empty flat.

A shuffling sound came from the landing across the living room where a tall, curved entryway led into the kitchen. 

Dark Knight stepped out into view. His uniform was replaced with a pair of expensive joggers and a loose black tee. His hair was damp and combed away from his face, glistening like a wild kelpie. He held a mug of something hot. 

His big lips curved as a molten look settled on his face.

_ There she is, my beautiful little stray. _

Rey took a step backward.

“Um… Hi…” she stammered. 

It surprised Rey that her headache was gone. With a rush of panic, it hit her that she’d been lying incapacitated in a strange man’s house --a famous, powerful supe at that. What had he done to her? Fuck!

“Thank you,” she began tremulously, her throat closing around a huge lump. “...for picking me up off that parking lot.”

“You were suffering from some strange symptoms,” Dark Knight bassed. He prowled toward her, his motions smooth and well-oiled as he claimed the space between them.

“Yes, I can explain that,” Rey chirped, fading backward.

“I have a lot of questions for you, but first,” he croaked, “What is your name?”

_ Really?  _ Rey thought.  _ He doesn’t know my name? He’s literally the top product of the most influential company in the city, and he didn’t already do an ID search? _

A shadowed look washed over Dark Knight’s face, sending Rey’s stomach into her ankles.

_ You’re right. I do know your name. I’ve been meditating on it while you were asleep, drinking it.  _

Rey’s throat felt tight; horror crawled about her skin.

_ I just wanted to hear you say it with those delectable lips.  _

Her breath faltered. Air sawed in and out of her lungs with escalating speed.

_ Say it for me, sweetheart. _

“I’m…” she mewed. “I’m Rey.”

“Rey,” Dark Knight repeated, his mouth spreading with a carnivorous smile.

Her mind raced. So she was still linked with him, but the impacts of her power were augmented somehow. While normally, the subject of Rey’s mind-links would be planted with faint hints and positive nudges toward her while she listened to their thoughts, this was entirely different. Dark Knight had gotten equal access to her mind.

“How are you doing this?” she asked.

The superhero drifted just a little too close.

“I could ask you the same question.” His long, raven brow curved accusingly.

_ Bump, bump.  _ Rey heard his thoughts pulse behind a veil he was keeping from her. Although the ravening look on his face told her that they were probably sexual and she’d rather not know.

Rey gulped. She wanted to know how Dark Knight built a firewall in his head. Maybe he could help her.

_ He’s going to find out anyway, might as well tell him. _

_ Yes, tell me. _

“Alright,” Rey relented. “I have a sort of, fucked up telepathy.”

“You're a supe,” Dark Knight murmured, sounding pleased.

“Not really.” She frowned, her cheeks flushing with shame. “Probably more like one of the baddies, honestly.”

“There’s nothing bad about you, Rey,” he crooned. The looming monster of a man twisted around behind him and reached toward the kitchen. A pouring sound echoed from the room and with eerie grace, a blue stoneware mug floated through the air toward them, coming to rest ceremoniously in Dark Knight’s hand. He offered Rey the coffee.

“Your telekinesis…” She accepted the hot mug with a flush of amazement. “...I’ve only ever seen you use it on television for… um…”

“...Flipping cars and knocking over walls?” He smirked.

“Mmhm.” Rey sipped the steaming liquid. It was rich, lightly acidic with its own carmelly sweetness, much nicer coffee than she ever kept in her dingy little basement apartment. In fact, everything about this place was beyond her wildest fantasies of security and comfort.

“You know, Rey,” Dark Knight said with a smooth, coaxing tone. “Our abilities can be used for so much more than just knock-off police work.”

Her heart pattered. Something sounded dangerous and sharp about what he was saying, but also alluring, like the soothing acid bitterness of the coffee warming its way down her throat.

_ What does he mean? _

His enormous lips slanted in a smile, maliciously winsome.

“Let me show you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TURNING ON THE HEAT! YES! Tell me what you think, lovely ones!

**Author's Note:**

> Check out some of my other stories:
> 
> Here is an immersive, magical modern [Selkie myth.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575849/chapters/64791409)
> 
> For a [short, funny and crass GingerRose,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006500/chapters/63231019) read about a Dwight Schrute-esque Hux helping Rose get back into the Star Wars Universe.
> 
> For some long, smutty historical GingerRose, save a horse, [ride a Cowboy Hux.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257374/chapters/58457770)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Be sure to smash that subscribe button to get the next update! 😘


End file.
